


A Gift

by 888Allis888



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Inspired by Fanfiction, Platonic Cuddling, canon - what canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 01:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/888Allis888/pseuds/888Allis888
Summary: Bluestreak has been bottling up his emotions. He needs some comfort, but thinks he can’t get it at home.Thundercracker helps.
Relationships: Bluestreak & Thundercracker, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	A Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [rakketyrivertam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakketyrivertam/pseuds/rakketyrivertam). Log in to view. 



> I recommend reading the fic this was inspired by, A Kindness by naasad, before you read this one.  
> I originally planned to write a call between Blue and TC first, something that would explain the meeting, but my muse changed, so we got a meeting instead.  
> All that said, I think it can stand alone as well.  
> Please let me know what you think in the comments!  
> No bata. Please let me know if there are any grammar or spelling errors.

“They hate me.” It was quiet and mumbled. Barely audible. But clear as day to his companion, whose arms he now laid in. 

One of said arms, moved from where it had rested across his lower back so that the hand could stroke up and down his back between his doorwings, while the thumb on the other hand continued to make soothing circles on his his neck flaring. There was a soft pressure on top of his helm as a chaste kiss was pressed there, and then replaced by the press of a cheek.

His vents stalled in an aborted sob, before restarting on a higher level. 

“Shshsh, let it out,” crooned the bigger mech which his deep voice, so soft the normal rumbling tones was more of a light purr. “It is just you and me here. No need to hold back. I got you, cloudling.”

What a surprise that had been. To find a friend, an ally, on the other side of this Primus forsaken war. To find understanding and acceptance, where his comrades mostly met him with annoyance, if not outright hostility, or a cold shoulder where they to inclined to ignore him completely. Tolerated, but not wanted. Endured, not loved.

His vents did three consecutive aborted in-vents as they hitched on conflicting protocols, trying to suck in air at the same time as trying to dump it out. The emotional stress had his plating clamped down, preventing some of the air flow and causing his protoform to heat up. A shudder finally released the tight plating, releasing the heated air, and allowing the plating to settle more loosely where it began to shake and rattle with his convulsive gasps. And then he cried. 

Big unrestrained sobs, shaking his entire frame. His plating ruffling up and clamping down as tears of washer fluids overflowed his optics, streamed down his face to pitter-platter on the smooth transparisteel covering the cockpit beneath his cheek. If it bothered the seeker, there was no sign of it.

“There, there,” the crooning continued in that soothing voice that should not have been this familiar, “let it all out. I’m here. Shshsh.” The seeker never let up on the stroking and petting. Carefully pushing the ruffled plating in his arms back into alignment where they had been shaken to hard. When there weren’t soothing words coming from the seeker, there were soothing coos and thrills and chirps. Melodic warbles that sounded like old songs, in a language or almost-language that he didn’t understand. A lullaby from the Seeker’s carrier used to sing, perhaps?

* * *

As the sobs quiet and the shaking slows to a stop, Bluestreak becomes more aware of the world around him again. How the shadows in the forest have deepened and grown longer, and the sun no longer reached where they sit in the clearing. How Thundercracker is still sitting against a three, and he himself is still in his lap practically sprawled over the blue mech’s frame. How the birds that still lingers occasionally repeats phrases of seeker’s song, getting the tone, the melody, right, if not the words should there be any. How he himself is strut tired, and might have fallen to recharged at some point. 

Thundercracker is still petting him. Long sure strokes, starting as far up his back as the seeker could reach around his door wings, and going all the way down the length of his roof. The movement repetitive and soothing, lulling Bluestreak toward recharge.

With a sigh of his vents, Bluestreak reluctantly sits up and looks around, but doesn't move from where he now sits in the seekers lap. Thunkercracker’s hands ends up with one curled the end of his roof and the other on his knee, with both thumbs tracing small circles on the plating there. His own hands settle to rest together in his lap. 

He looks back at the Seeker, and Thundercracker meets his optics with nothing but calm patience and a small curve to his lips in an easy affection Bluestreak wish he could have seen in an other face. 

“I should head back,” Bluestreak says in a quiet voice. “Before I miss my scheduled return and Red Alert makes up some non existing threat or disaster that he believes would get us all killed, or Cliffjumper start spreading rumor that I am defecting or an Decepticon spy or a traitor, or someone, Red probably, tells Prowl I am missing again and he feels duty bound to come look and Jazz will be annoyed that their time was cut short again, Prowl would take me to Ratchet just because, and Ratchet will mumble about his life would be easier if I offlined instead of getting into trouble, Optimus Prime would be disappointed for all the ruckus, and the rest wouldn’t even have noticed and just be annoyed of the whole ordeal.”

“That’s ok,” Thundercracker answers him, not once losing his patience through the flow of words from Bluestreak. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, and you have had an exhausting day.” 

“I haven’t done much but driving and sitting here and crying on you. I am so sorry for that by the way,” Bluestreak starts to wipe at the tear stained transparisteel with his servos, but only succeed in making further stains where the washer fluids have partly dried to make watermarks, “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Oh, gosh! I am sorry! This isn’t helping at all! I-” 

Bluestreak cuts himself of as Thundercracker calmly uses on arm to brush Bluestreak’s hands back down into his lap and grabs a hold of them. He gives the hands of the rattled mech a reassuring squeeze. Never stopping the circles his thumb makes on his back.

“Don’t worry about it,” his voice has its deep rumbling tone back with a more normal volume, but is no less soft and soothing, “I have a wipe cloth with me in my subspace. Here,” he lets go of Bluestreaks hands, and Bluestreaks try not to miss the comforting touch, as Thundercracker reach into his sub-space and retrieves the cloth. 

Telegraphing his movements, Thundercracker reach for Bluestreak’s face with both hands and carefully grabs his chin in one. Just as carefully he uses the cloth to wipe clean Bluestreak’s tear stained faceplates. Bluestreak does not dare move. He barely vents.

“There you go, cloudling,” he says satisfied, before handing him the cloth, ”Now you can help me clean.”

Bluestreak looks at the cloth in his hands, and up to Thundercracker with wide optics.

“You sure?” he asks surprised, “Isn’t grooming something important? Something you do with those close? With family? Not that I’m not honored. I am. Honored, that is. I just, is it ok? I am no one important.”

“You are important.” The answer was firm, sure, and allowed no arguments. “I know the Autobots aren’t making you feel that way, but that doesn’t make it less true. You are important and you matter.” Thundercracker’s optics showed only sincerity.

“Okay,” Bluestreak says and casts his optics down, choosing to focus on the task he had been given, honored with really. He wipes the top part of the cockpit, using careful circular movements. He rubs the cloth along the band that cross over the transparisteel, to get what has gathered along the seam and Thundercracker gives a soft sigh. Bluestreak pulls back immediately. “Sorry! I don’t mean to-”

“Don’t worry,” Thundercracker ressurs before Bluestreak can rile himself up again. “It feels nice, is all.” Thundercracker carefully guides Bluestreak of is lap and stands up with him. There is a metallic pop as one of his back plates snaps back into places from where Bluestreak had clutched it hard enough to buckle while he cried.

“Sorry,” he says with a wince, but Thundercracker waves it off. Bluestreak can see that there are slight marks on one of the seekers shoulder vents as well, from where his other hand had griped, helpless in the torrent of emotions he had been swiped up by to do anything but to weep and hold on for dear life. He feels embarrassed about it now, but Thundercracker’s calm keep him from letting the embarrassment overwhelm him.

They both stretches their struts and fluff up their plating to let it resettle, shaking out frame and plating tensions. The end up standing there looking at each other. 

“Uh, here,” Bluestreak says and holds out the cloth to Thundercracker.

“Keep it. It’s yours,” Thundercracker answers and push his hand back. “When you feel alone, hold it, and know that you matter. That you aren’t the only one. I know it is not much, but-” Bluestreak shakes himself out of the wide-opticed stare and hugs the seeker around the waist. “Wow, there, cloudling, it’s okay.” Thundercracker places his hands around Bluestreak’s shoulders, giving him a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” Bluestreaks says with a sob and tears in his optics. “Just, no one ever gave me anything to call my own. At least not since Praxus, and I don’t remember any of that. And now I messed up your cockpit again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sniffled and absently started to rub circles on Thundercrackers cockpit again.

“It’s okay,” Thundercracker gently rubs at Bluestreak’s shoulders. “You don’t need to apologize. You have done nothing wrong here. Now go, before you get in trouble.”

“Okay,” Bluestreak beams at him through his tears. He steps back away from the Seeker and starts to make his way towards the threes on the side of the clearing he came form.

“Remember to call if you need anything!” Thundercracker calls after him.

“Yeah, I will,” he stops to call back. “Thank you! For everything!”

“No problem,” the Seeker answers. “Anytime, cloudling.”

Bluestreak watch the Seeker jump and transform before shooting of into the clear sky, now tinted with soft pinks as the sun have started to set. It is a beautiful picture.

He lifts the cloth to his olfactory and take a good sniff. It smells of vapor and ozone and the wax the seeker use, as well as his own washer fluids. It feels him with a sense of comfort. 

He subspaces the cloth and head home, towards the Ark, with a now found strength and a lightness of the mind he haven’t felt in… a while.

Bluestreak smiles.


End file.
